The Rain After The Storm
by Indiana Beach Bum
Summary: I know its wrong. He knows its wrong. But it just feels right. Mild slash.


Just some brainstorming that I am experimenting with. And I've never done a one-shot before. Feel free to leave any kind of comment—it's just an idea I had. I know I said I wouldn't write anymore for a while…so I lied. Oh well.

** The Rainbow After The Storm**

He looks at me with unsure eyes. I reach for his cheek, placing my hand on it as a symbol to relax.

"He's not going to find out," I whisper, and brush my lips against his. He sucks on my bottom lip like a hungry child. He needs me. He craves me.

Our tongues dance around in synchronization, and my heart falls to mush. No one has ever been able to make me feel this way. Sneaking behind the gymnasium has never been a romantic event for me. Everyone knows what I'm always after. I'm the one people always look to for advice on good sexual positions. Not on love.

But there he was. Knocking on my doorstep in the middle of the night. He had a fight with his lover, and I was the only one to turn to. Can I help it that he found me so irresistible? I hadn't meant for this to happen. He was one of my good friends.

The first time it happened, I felt guilty. I hated doing this to Kyle, and I'm pretty sure he regretted it too. We had agreed that it was a mistake, and he showed up hand in hand with Kyle the next day. I breathed a sigh of relief. After all, Stan _did_ belong to Kyle.

But then it happened again. And again. And again. I'm not sure when I stopped counting and started relishing in my happiness.

Stan was not your typical seventeen-year-old boy. Having grown up with him, I always knew he was going to turn out to be extraordinarily good looking. Sure enough, he grew into the most handsome guy in our school. It seemed as though it happened overnight. One day he was your average run-of-the-mill gawky fifteen year old, popping his pimples in the bathroom and trying hard to conceal his squeaky voice. But then the next day, he walked into the school, robust, tall, and beautiful. His body resembled that of a Greek God, and everyone, including Kyle and me, started to notice.

Except that Kyle already had dibbs on him. He and Kyle were inseparable throughout grade school, so that when middle school came around, they were already each other's #1 person. It was the end of their freshman year when one day Stan and Kyle walked into school with their arms intertwined. They didn't give a shit about what others were thinking. They didn't seem to notice the stares and comments that surrounded them. They were so focused on each other; I knew that their relationship must have stepped up to a new level.

They had a relationship that poor trash like me could be envious of. I'm talking full-blown love, with EVERY perk. I often found myself drawn to them, fascinated by their movements toward each other. The conversation between the two. Kind little gestures one would make to another. Little nuances here and there about their love life. I was the person they both told first when they finally had sex. Hearing both sides to that made me surprisingly aroused. I wondered why, cause I've never been into guys.

Then their happiness faded. After that first year, they started having normal relationship troubles, and I was the one for them both to come to. Who else were they going to go to…Cartman? Haha, that fatass was still so stuck up his own ass he wouldn't give a shit about anyone else's problems.

Stan started visiting me frequently. It felt like he almost saw more of me than his boyfriend. I was curious, and began to search for answers. It was then that I discovered my attraction to the blue-eyed boy.

It was a particularly warm day in December, and he didn't call or nothing. He just showed up. I was getting ready for bed when I saw him. Standing right in front of my window, his head pressed against the glass. How long had he been there? Had he seen me change? I wasn't sure. I couldn't quite make out the expression on his face. I knew he had just had a fight with Kyle again.

Not at all alarmed, I motioned with my head and hands for him to come to my front door. Throughout the years, my parents had grown increasingly afraid of crimes happening in South Park, and we had, like, twenty thousand locks on our door. Don't ask me why, we didn't have a fucking valuable thing in the house.

I opened the door to the miserable looking, black-haired beauty, extending my arm as a gesture for him to come in.

"Happen again?" I guessed.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take Kenny," he admitted. "I think he loves me, but sometimes he just treats me like some stranger he picked up off the street."

I looked at him with sympathetic eyes and he followed me to my room. "I'm sure he doesn't realize what he is doing to you," I say. I've got this routine of comforting Stan down to an art. But that night it was different. He looked lost. He looked needy.

Fifteen minutes passed by and I caught myself scooting closer and closer to the teary eyed boy. When the time came for him to leave, he just sat there.

"Thanks again, Ken," he said to me. And for no particular reason at all, he kissed me.

It wasn't a sissy kiss either. It was the kind of kiss you give to your long lost love that has been away overseas for three years and you're just now seeing for the first time. It was full of passion. I just couldn't turn him down. I mean Stan felt good.

I focus on what is happening in the now. Stan has skipped his fourth period once more to meet up with me behind the gym for another one of our 'appointments'. That's what he calls it. Like I'm his doctor. And I have the drug to make him forget about all his troubles. How the hell am I supposed to turn down that?

One of these days, Kyle is going to find out. One of these days, its all going to come crashing down on us. One of these days will be the last. But I savor while I can.

He kisses me deeply and moans my name.

I know its wrong.

He knows its wrong.

But it just feels right. It feels natural. Like the rainbow after the storm.


End file.
